Suspicious Minds
by Viv Martella's Ghost
Summary: This story is a 'The Bill' & 'Doctor Who' slash crossover, featuring Ramani De Costa & Jo Grant. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_These characters are not mine. The Bill belongs to Thames TV. Doctor Who belongs to the BBC._

Suspicious Minds, by Viv Martella's Ghost

"—and so you see, that's how I came by the first edition. Because the other mistake I made was to sell volume 37 at a very low price, not realising its true value. That is—"

Laura didn't mind foot patrol with Reg. The rambling stories of his surprisingly unordinary life provided a meditative backdrop to a long day's walking. She tuned in and out as she pleased, and he didn't seem to mind. Two sons, successive thin walled flats, and inescapable urban traffic meant she was used to background noise. It kept her alert, where silence always made her feel that she had forgotten something important.

"—so he said, 'I'm sure you'll be suitably entertained by the experience - hold out your hand.' Which is when I said, 'How could you be here if you didn't exist—'"

"Reg, will you look at this?"

They'd only passed this warehouse earlier that afternoon, and it had seemed secure. Now there was a panel of windows smashed, with glass covering the footpath, and a door that was damaged by fire.

Reg withdrew his hand from its glove and tentatively touched fingers to the door.

"It's still warm."

Laura's eyes took in the darkening overcast sky and the top floor of the building. "I can smell smoke - can you? Old smoke - there's no sign of a fire still burning."

"No." Reg peered through one of the broken windowpanes. "There is a glow inside though. It could be a small fire. Sierra Oscar from 171."

"Go ahead, 171."

"Have there been any reports of arson in the Harrow Road area today?"

"That's a negative, Reg."

"Oh. Well, thanks."

"Shall we investigate?" suggested Laura, cautiously pushing open the door.

"Oh, er. Yes," agreed Reg, following.

Once inside the large stockroom of the warehouse, they heard the echoes of voices coming from out the back of the building. The direction coincided with the orange glow, now brightly visible through a doorway.

"Should we have called for back up?" whispered Laura.

"Yes. I know what you mean," Reg quietly replied. And then, "Hallo!" he called out. "Police. Is anyone there?"

"Best not to take them by surprise?" Laura said, smiling.

"Something like that," muttered Reg. "Hallo?"

The voices stopped. They were replaced by the sound of footsteps.

Just as Reg and Laura reached the back of the stockroom, two figures appeared in the doorway - a tall man and a shorter woman.

"Ah, good evening, officers," said the man. "I'm so glad you've finally arrived."


	2. Chapter 2

She stood by the CID balcony doors, watching the world through the gritty, grimy glass.

He sniffed quietly as he approached, so as not to startle her. "Penny for 'em."

She shook her head, smiled broadly at him, searched his face through mysterious, dark eyes, then looked back out at the grim weather and the dusky street. "Do you ever feel like you've done all this before?"

"Every day. Copper's lot."

"Yeah," she said, clicking her front teeth together softly. "That could be it."

In the distant sky a plane flew overhead, lights flashing into the night. The sound of a siren reached them from the yard, then stopped. A pigeon landed on the balcony rail - she was sure it was the same one as yesterday.

She pressed her fingertips to the glass, and her breath turned a patch of it foggy. He drew a smiley face in the condensation, and gave it an evil frown and goatee.

"Tell you what," he said. "There's a new bar opened on Jamaica Lane. DJ plays eighties trash. Want to check it out after?"

She turned to him. "Are you asking me out on a date, Terry?"

"What do you think?" he said lightly. "Just thought it'd be soming different."

Another new bar opening. Another DJ playing eighties trash. Another night of half drunk half flirtation to 'Tainted Love' with a man who was really more like a brother to her.

"I'll have a think about it," she said.

"Good," said Terry, and went back to his desk.


	3. Chapter 3

"Excuse me, Smithy," said Laura, knocking at the doorjamb of the sergeants' office. "I mean - sorry - sarge."

"Wot is it?"

"Have you heard of this United Nations Intelligence Taskforce? Only we've got a live one in custody - claims to be their scientific advisor. Sergeant Ackland said you might know something about it."

Laura showed Smiffy the pass the man had given her. He opened it and gave it a cursory glance.

"Yeah, I know UNIT. Got a mate who's a UNIT corporal as it goes. Let me have a word."

"Righto."

They walked back out to custody, Smiffy flicking the UNIT pass against his hand.

"He's over there in the Austin Powers get-up."

"Cheers, Laura. Excuse me, sir."

The man in question was indeed attired in a velvet smoking jacket and frilly white shirt, with tall, black, dramatic leather boots reaching to his knees. He was seated on the custody bench between Reg and a female companion.

"Well, it's about time!" the companion exclaimed in girlish indignation upon Smiffy's arrival.

The man stood up to speak with him. "I do hope we can clear up this misunderstanding, sergeant, er—"

"Sergeant Smith. Where'd you get this?"

"UNIT headquarters," the man replied. "I believe that's generally where they issue them."

"And you are?"

"Doctor John Smith. Though I'm usually known simply as the Doctor. Can you read, sergeant?"

The man loomed a few inches taller than Smiffy. He had a big presence in the room with his sensual, theatrical clothes and white, woolly hair. His eyes were wise, and warm, and piercing, and at the moment imbued with arrogant purpose.

But Smiffy was not one to be intimidated. "Look, I don't know what your game is, mate. But this pass expired before most of my relief was a twinkle in their old man's proverbial. So it won't do you no favours round here."

"I see. Well, sergeant, allow me to do a favour for you. By informing you that you, sir, are even more of a closed-minded buffoon than the soldier who issued me that pass—"

"What the Doctor means to say, " interjected the female, "is that he has a long-standing association with UNIT, and he's certain if you phone them up they'll vouch for his credentials. And mine too, for that matter."

"And what's your name?"

"Josephine Grant," she said, importantly. Then she flashed her most winning smile. "Or Jo, if you like."

She was small, but sparky. Like her tall companion, she too had presence, with her big shiny eyes and short (short!) miniskirt and fluffy faux-fur coat, and her own pair of tall, black boots.

Smiffy habitually gave her the once over, but he wasn't convinced. "Don't worry, I'll be phoning UNIT awright. We're well acquainted. And in all my time I've never seen a UNIT soldier dressed like you two."

"Oh, we're not soldiers," said Jo. "We're scientists. Well, the Doctor is, and I'm his assistant. And when your officers arrested us we were in the middle of an important investigation."

Smiffy ignored her and turned to Laura. "What are they charged with?"

"We arrested him for arson and criminal damage at the old warehouse on Harrow Road. There had obviously been an explosion of some sort among some fancy electrical equipment. He showed us where it happened."

"That don't mean he started it."

"No, but he kept telling us none of this was down to her and he's sorry he dragged her into it. Sounded a bit suspicious, and he couldn't account for his presence in the warehouse, despite admitting to damaging the equipment with a screwdriver. So we arrested him. She insisted on coming along to keep him company."

The Doctor was growing impatient. "Now look, sergeant, I assure you that this a complete waste of everybody's time. Can't you listen to reason, man?"

"That's right," said Jo. "The Doctor didn't start that fire - he stopped the whole room from going up in smoke! You should be thanking him not locking him up. You've arrested the wrong man!"

"Yes, well never mind that, Jo. This is far more serious than wrongful arrest. Sergeant Smith, as I've been trying to explain to your officers, your detaining me could seriously endanger us all. One of the most devious criminal minds the Earth has seen for - well, for thirty odd years - is masterminding a dangerous plot from the back room of that warehouse. It's only by sheer luck that we stumbled across his base of operations, and I was able to dismantle some of his equipment, and as Jo says, stop the place from going up in smoke. But the man himself was absent, and I should think it would be the priority of the local authorities - by which I mean you - to find him and lock him out of harm's way as soon as humanly possible. Or preferably, sooner."

"Okay," said Smiffy shortly. "Who is this geezer then?"

"Well," The Doctor rubbed his neck. "I don't know his name."

"That's convenient."

"What I mean is, I don't know the name he'd be using. He goes by many names. But I can guarantee you that whatever it is, it'll be some form of the word 'master'."

"Well what's he look like, this master?"

The Doctor rubbed his neck some more. "I can't tell you that either."

"I suppose he goes by many faces."

"Yes. Yes he does as a matter of fact."

Smiffy sighed.

"Well what's he sposed to have done then?"

"Now that I do know. He's put in place a temporal recursion loop that operates on a local spatial scale of approximately three miles radius from the core generator in that warehouse."

"What's that when it's at home?"

"It's a powerful force that dooms anyone trapped within its influence to an eternity of ethological circularity."

"Circuwhat?"

"Put simply, sergeant, repeating yourself. Doing the same things over and over again."

"So what you're telling me is, this bloke's guilty of boring us to death."

The Doctor's mouth twitched in the shadow of a smile. "Yes. I suppose that's exactly what I'm saying."

"You're right," said Smiffy. "He is evil."

He cast a glance at June behind the custody desk, who shared a sympathetic smile.

"But you've sorted him out now?" piped up Reg from the sidelines, with more sincerity than Smiffy was comfortable with.

"I simply reversed the polarity of the neutron flow," explained the Doctor. "But the damage that did won't hold the Master up for long. And the only reason he hasn't boosted his recursion loop to engulf the whole of London - or possibly the world - is that his energy source overheated, causing the warehouse explosion. But once that's repaired…"

"You've just got to let us go!" pleaded Jo. "The Doctor's the only one who knows how to stop the Master!"

Reg nodded, pursing his lips, his grey eyes thoughtful.

"So, sergeant," said the Doctor with an optimistic lisp. "Will you help us find the Master and put an end to his operation before it's too late?"

"Fraid not."

"May I ask why?"

"You may," said Smiffy. "It's because you are, at the risk of sounding a bit Shakespearean, what we in the Met commonly refer to as an utter nutter."

"Now, look here—" the Doctor started angrily.

"Yes, hold on!" exclaimed Jo.

"Lock him up, June. Laura, it's arson, pass the case on to CID. Reg?"

Reg took the Doctor by the arm. "Come along, sir."

"And you," Smiffy said to Jo, "you can come wiv me. I know someone who'll want to hear your story."

"I'm not leaving the Doctor!"

The Doctor turned back to Jo. "It's all right, Jo. I'm sure we can get this sorted soon enough. Just do as they say."

He smiled kindly at her, and she smiled back with complete faith and resignation. "If you say so, Doctor."

"I do."

"Sir, if you wouldn't mind," repeated Reg, and nudged the Doctor towards the custody desk.

Jo shrugged to Smiffy.

"All right then, sergeant," she said. "Drag me away to be sacrificed or tied up or married off or mind probed, or whatever it is you want to do with me."

"With any luck," muttered Smiffy, leading her through the internal doors of the station, "in ten minutes that won't be my problem any more."


	4. Chapter 4

"What a pair of crackpots!" exclaimed Laura as they went upstairs to CID. "I thought we had enough weirdos on the Coal Lane, but I can see I've led a sheltered life."

"Yeah. Well. There was a sort of consistent internal logic to what the man was claiming, wouldn't you say?"

"If I could understand a word of it, I might think so. But as it is…"

"I mean, did he look like an arsonist to you?"

"I don't know. What's an arsonist look like, Reg?"

Reg shook his head. "If you ask me, it's a rare pleasure to meet this type of old school gentleman. Nobody values chivalry anymore."

"Chivalry?"

"Well, honesty. Taking a principled stand in the face of hostility."

"You believe that rubbish?"

"Well…" Reg scowled, vacillating. "All I'm saying is, perhaps we should have given him the benefit of the doubt."

"Perhaps we should've. Bu it isn't up to us anymore, Reg."

"No, unfortunately. I can only hope that CID will treat him with the respect he deserves."

Laura regarded Reg for a moment, somehow not at all surprised.


	5. Chapter 5

She was already in the soft interview room, waiting. Sitting up, on the edge of her chair, with her shoulders hunched over. Her hands, emerging from loose black sleeves, were tucked under her stockinged thighs, and her fluffy jacket rested across her lap. She seemed forlorn, perhaps. A little bit lost.

Ramani put her pen between her teeth and juggled her coffee cup, notepad and shoulder bag to open the door.

"Hello," she said over the pen as she entered. She put down her coffee cup and took the pen from her mouth.

"So, Jo, is it?" she asked, with her warmest smile.

"That's right."

"My name's Ramani."

"Hello, Ramani," said Jo sweetly.

Ramani sat down in the chair opposite Jo with her notepad resting on her skirted knee.

"Now, Jo," she said. "Sergeant Smith wanted me to have a word with you because he was concerned that you might need some help, that you might be in some sort of…trouble?"

"Well, yes. That's rather an understatement I'm afraid."

"Okay," smiled Ramani. "Do you mind if I take some notes as we talk?"

Jo shook her head.

"Can I get you anything? A cup of tea, glass of water?"

"No, I'm fine, really. If we could just get on."

"Right. Sure." Ramani crossed her legs beneath her skirt and put on her serious listening face.

"Well the first problem is that you've got the wrong man under arrest. The Doctor's the one who's trying to stop the Master! And he suggested that you - that is, the police - might be able to help us find him. Only when he asked those two constables for help, they arrested him instead and brought us both here. But you must understand, it wasn't the Doctor who caused the warehouse fire - it was the Master!"

"Okay, Jo. Can you slow down a bit. The doctor is trying to stop…the master?"

"That's right. The Doctor believes he's the one responsible for - well, for everything, really. Everything bad, that is. But in particular for putting this temporal thingamajig on Sun Hill. And if we don't find him in time, the whole world will be trapped in it, and we'll never be able to stop him."

Ramani nodded, not quite able to keep the frown from her face. "Right," she said. "So you are helping the doctor to find the master? Is that why you were at the warehouse?"

"In a way. We weren't planning to at first - we were on our way to visit some - some old friends of his. But the TARDIS - which is our vehicle if you like - got sort of snagged on this temporal force field and that's how we ended up here."

Ramani nodded and made a note.

/snagged on temporal force field./

"Okay. I'd like to go back a step, if that's…all right… The doctor - he's your boyfriend?"

"Why, no!" exclaimed Jo, and she couldn't help letting a lively laugh escape with the words. It transformed her anxious righteousness to wild sunshiny mirth in an instant, and Ramani couldn't help smiling along with her. "He's a friend," Jo went on, warmly. "Well officially I'm his assistant, but I'm not very good at science. So I suppose we're just travelling companions."

"And do you do a lot of travelling together?"

"Well, yes - if we're not being ordered about by UNIT, that is. But the Doctor recently got his TARDIS fixed, so he can leave whenever he likes, and these days he's chuffing off somewhere every ten minutes. And I'd be an idiot not to go with him. You see, the places he travels to are so very - exotic."

Jo clasped her hands around her knees, keeping her booted miniskirted legs politely together.

She was quite delightful to watch, like a little doe-eyed pixie. A child of the universe, thought Ramani.

"But I'm sure he'll be feeling altogether grounded in his cell," Jo admonished seriously.

"Well two of our best detectives are looking into his case."

Jo sighed. "Look, I appreciate you trying to help, Ramani, really I do. But the best thing anyone can do is to let the Doctor go. He didn't do it, you know. And he ought to be out there looking for the Master."

"Well if he didn't do it, the detectives on his case will find that out."

This came out more harshly than Ramani had expected it to, so she leant forward to squeeze Jo's forearm. "Okay?"

Jo had to be satisfied with that. "Yes," she said, forcing a grateful smile. "Yes, of course."

Ramani sat back and sucked lightly at her bottom lip. The girl was lovely, of that there was no doubt. And compassionate, probably well meaning.

But.

"Jo. I understand how anxious you must be feeling about what's happened today. But I have a few more questions I need to ask you."

"All right."

Lightly, as if enquiring about the quarter past bus, Ramani asked, "Are you - or the Doctor - taking any medication at the moment?"

"No," Jo said simply. "We're quite well, thank you."

Ramani took a moment to consider this chipper response, wondering if the apparent naivety was genuine.

"Okay. And what's your home address?"

"Well the TARDIS is where we live at the moment."

"And the tardis is your car, caravan…?"

"It's not mine, it's the Doctor's. And it's not a car, it's more of a…a…"

Ramani raised her eyebrow expectantly. "More of a…?"

"A wooden box?" ventured Jo.

"So you're living in a wooden box," said Ramani as flippantly as possible, having heard much worse many times before.

"Only temporarily," said Jo uncertainly. "While we're travelling."

"And do you have a permanent home?"

Jo paused. "Well originally I'm from Hampstead."

"Oh, nice," offered Ramani encouragingly, feeling that she was finally getting somewhere. "Do you have family there? Friends?"

"Um," said Jo. "I'm not sure. I used to but they might have…moved on."

"When was the last time you lived there?"

"It's a bit difficult to say," said Jo. "It might have been 1973."

Ramani was rather surprised by this answer. "You must be older than you look," she said as she wrote it down. "How old are you by the way?"

Jo didn't answer right away. "I'm not sure you'll believe it," she said finally.

"Well I would have guessed you'd be twenty one, twenty two. But if you lived in Hampstead in 1973, then you must be at least thirty…something…"

Jo bit her lip. "I'm twenty four."

Ramani frowned. Her hand wandered to her head to worry at her hairline.

"You know maths was never my strong point but twenty four years ago was…1981?"

Jo nodded in a resigned 'here we go again' sort of way. "I'm afraid you're probably right about that."

"Is that the year you were born? Or 1980?"

Jo said nothing.

It was heartbreaking. Ramani could go along with psychotic delusions up to a point. But beyond that point - which she seemed to have reached - it stopped being fun, and duty forbade her from indulging them any further.

She smiled, sympathetically. "Your story doesn't make sense, Jo. Do you see that?"

"Yes," Jo smiled back, warily. "I can see it doesn't make sense to you, Ramani."

"Right," said Ramani with a thoughtful knuckle at her mouth. "Um, is there anyone you'd like us to contact? Do you have a phone number of a parent, or, or—"

"No," said Jo, smiling gratefully. "Thank you. But that sergeant did say he'd contact UNIT for us. I'm sure once he does that a lot of this confusion can be cleared up."

"Mm, that's right." Ramani consulted a page in her notepad. "Sergeant Smith did make contact with UNIT just before he asked me to meet you here. But the person he spoke to wasn't aware of your names being among their personnel files, as scientific advisors or otherwise. They've no record of you."

Jo sighed. "Oh. I see."

"So, I'm not sure—"

"Did he tell them we were former UNIT personnel, not current? They might have to look up old records, perhaps thirty years old…" Jo's voice petered out in defeat. "I'm not going to convince you, am I?"

Ramani took a long, thoughtful breath, her eyes roving over Jo's face as if searching for something there. "Look, Jo, can I be honest with you?"

"Please."

"I'm concerned that this man - the Doctor - has told you some very convincing stories about UNIT and somebody he calls 'the master', and has you under his influence as a result. And I'm worried that he might lead you into all sorts of trouble - has led you into trouble already, today, with this warehouse fire. And I'm worried that one day you won't be able to get yourself out of it."

"Oh," sighed Jo. "I thought you might say something like that."

Her big brown eyes had lost their lustre. No longer a child of the universe, she looked much more worldly and weathered all of a sudden. Ramani blinked at her, and wanted very much to fix what she'd killed.

"The Doctor means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, he does. Oh, I know you think he's a criminal, or - I don't know - some sort of a loony. But he's not, really, he's not. His manner, it's just…unusual, that's all."

"It's not just his manner, though, is it now? I mean - it's all these stories of yours that just don't add up."

Ramani hated every word that came out of her mouth. She picked up her coffee mug, the pale polish on her fingernails gleaming white against the blue china. Then straight away she put it down again.

"I'll get you a cup of tea," she said, and fussed for a moment with her pen and paper before leaving the room.

While Jo, on the opposite chair, looked terribly, terribly forlorn.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh. Sarge. Have a moment?"

Smiffy didn't bother to look up from his paper shuffling. "Wot is it Reg?"

"Yes, well, I've had a look on the PNC, and cross-referenced it with what I could deduce from thesaurus dot com, phrases dot org and the google translation interface, and I've come up with a list of possible suspects."

"Wot are you bangin on about?"

"This 'master' that our Doctor Smith in custody was talking about."

"Did I tell you you could waste police time on that?"

"No, but, I thought some initiative… You see, if you type in this name, Marquess—"

"Reg," barked Smiffy. "Go and get Laura and get back out on foot patrol. It's a CID investigation now."

"But, you see—"

"Did you 'ear me?"

"Oh, er, yes, sarge. Sorry, sarge. I'll leave this here then. If you'd pass it on to CID?"

Reg left his notes on Smiffy's desk and left. Smiffy eyed the pieces of paper warily.

"You'll be the death of me, Hollis," he muttered, and swept them into the bin without a second glance.


	7. Chapter 7

Terry tossed the folder onto the table.

He cleared his throat.

He screechingly pulled his chair out to sit in it.

He pressed 'record'.

He looked at his watch, and began speaking in a lax, distracted manner.

"Interview commenced 18:37. Present is the suspect Doctor John Smith a.k.a. 'the Doctor', officers present DC Perkins and DC Masters. The suspect has waived his right to legal representation."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor interrupted from the other side of the table. "But what did you just say?"

Terry glared at him, not in the mood. "You just told us you didn't want a brief."

"No, I didn't mean that part. What did you say your name was?"

"DC Terry Perkins."

"And yours?" said the Doctor, turning to the other officer.

"DC Jo Masters."

The Doctor pondered for a moment. "Are you making fun of me, madam? Sir?"

The officers exchanged sidelong glances. "Now why would we do that?" asked Terry.

"You don't see the humour in the name 'Jo Masters'?"

"Nope," said Terry, shifting his jaw.

Jo folded her arms, amused. "What's so funny about it?"

The Doctor stood up to rub his neck.

"Would you sit back down please, Doctor Smiff," warned Terry.

"I need to think—"

"Doctor, can you sit back down," said Jo firmly.

"Oh, very well," said the Doctor, and he sat. "Look, I arrived here with my companion Jo Grant in search of a man calling himself 'the Master'. Are you telling me your name is mere coincidence?"

"Yeah," said Jo. "I am. Here."

She reached into her pocket and brought out her warrant card. The Doctor examined it carefully. "Well I admit, it looks real enough. As do you. Regeneration, I expect. Or did you finally find a way to parasitise the bodies of innocent Tellurians?"

Jo cocked her head at him, unsure how to respond. She looked at Terry, who shrugged. She looked back at the Doctor, and "Innocent Tellurians?" were the only words that came out before the Doctor spoke again.

"I see. So may I ask what you were doing earlier today, in the vicinity of the Harrow Road warehouse?"

Jo scoffed in surprise. "I think you'll find, Doctor, that it's me who should be asking that of you."

"Oh? Afraid it would make things awkward for you with your colleague here? I'm sure you could make short work of him if he found out too much."

"Listen, mate," grumped Terry. "You're the suspect and we ask the questions. You got that?"

The Doctor eyed them both carefully. "Yes. I've seen this kind of thing before, Perkins. Concentrate, man. Fight it. You don't have to do as she says, you are free to choose."

The Doctor snapped his fingers twice in rapid succession close to Terry's face. Terry grabbed them. He held them in his hand, and said, annoyed, "I know."

"Terry," warned Jo.

Terry let go.

The Doctor gave him a knowing look, and Terry scowled.

"So tell me, Doctor," said Jo more temperately. "I'm interested. Exactly what is it you're accusing me of?"

"Well if you are who I suspect you are, arson, to begin with. And murder, undoubtedly. But only in the service of a much more serious crime."

"And what's that?"

"Enslavement. Of the human race."

Terry squinted at him. Jo continued. "You'll have to excuse my ignorance, Doctor, but if I've done that, how is it that we're all still walking around free?"

"You haven't achieved it yet, because I temporarily disabled your recursion loop generator. And even if you did succeed, the human race would still be walking around. But they most certainly wouldn't be free - they'd be dead in the mind. Brain-dead servants to your unquenchable thirst for power."

Terry and Jo nodded for a moment.

"Barking," muttered Terry.

"Yep," said Jo.

"I think you've got the wrong, er, man," said Terry.

"Just who is it that you think I am, Doctor?"

Jo's pale eyes were inquisitive and open, genuinely curious. The Doctor looked at her for a long time. His furrowed brow gradually shifted to apologetic amusement. He sighed. "Yes. For a moment I really did believe it."

"Believe what?"

"That you were the Master."

Jo shrugged, prompting for more.

"An old friend. Now my deadliest enemy."

"A close friend?"

"Yes, once upon a time. We were students together, among other things."

"Until he got stuck on turnin people into zombies with his insatiable lust for power?"

The Doctor's smiling mouth behind his steepled fingers spoke a quiet, "Yes. Actually, more often homunculus than zombies, but you've got the right idea."

"But how did you mistake me for 'im? I imagine I don't much match his description."

"No," agreed the Doctor. "Now that would be rather difficult to explain. And I'm not sure we have sufficient time, my dear."

Terry, meanwhile, was chewing a fingernail. "Look, Doctor," he said. "Before this interview goes any further I think it would do us all a world of good if we was to schedule you a session with the borough forensic psychiatrist."

The Doctor raised his head defensively. "I assure you, sir, there is nothing amiss with my psyche."

"I beg to differ," said Terry. "And I ain't arguing. Jo?"

Jo, after a little while, nodded agreement.

"Right," said Terry. "Interview terminated at 18:43. Come on, Doctor. You're going back to your cell."


	8. Chapter 8

Ramani's eyes followed the rise and fall of Jack's cricket ball in his hands as she made her impassioned argument. "I think she's the victim, guv. This Doctor's clearly got delusional and paranoid ideas about the way the world works, and he seems to have dragged her from pillar to post to help him solve these - imagined - problems of his."

"Well I trust your judgement, Ramani. What do you want to do with her? Or let's begin with him - Terry, what evidence do you have that he committed the arson at the Harrow Road warehouse?"

"Circumstantial," said Terry, leaning back against the windowsill, eyes also on the ball. "Laura and Reg arrested him at the scene. The fire was out, but he'd been mucking about with some electrical equipment that had obviously overheated and blown up, according to the SOCO."

"So his actions caused the explosion."

"Unknown. It's possible the explosion occurred prior to his interference."

"So who's responsible for this electrical equipment? Does it belong to the warehouse, is it electrical mains, what?"

"Unknown," said Terry. "Though the Doctor's accused Jo - our DC Masters that is - of installing it to further her ambitions for world domination."

Jack's eyes twinkled at Jo, who said, "He's off his rocker, guv."

Jack chuckled. "Has he made threats against you?"

"No," Jo replied. "Quite the opposite. He was the perfect gentleman when he realised he'd mistaken me for someone else."

"Have you had run ins with him in the past?"

"Never seen him before in me life."

"Okay. So what you're saying, Terry, is that this Doctor seemed to know what the equipment was for, and nobody else does, not even the SOCO. He's admitted to damaging the equipment, whatever it is. And it seems that he's arbitrarily put the blame on DC Masters or some other unknown person in order to justify his own actions. At minimum, it's trespass, and possibly criminal damage. Whether or not he's guilty of arson, to me that sounds like solid grounds to keep him in custody pending further enquiries."

"I just think he's a few planks short, guv," said Terry. "He might respond better if he didn't feel so threatened by us - we've probably triggered his paranoia by arresting him."

"He may not be the full quid," said Jack, "but I'm not satisfied that this man isn't a danger to himself and others."

Ramani nodded. "I agree, Terry. I mean, this man has this woman Jo Grant living in a wooden box. She has no contact with other friends or family. She has no sense of what year it is, what she's done with her life, and her only reality is the pursuit of this 'master' who she now believes is at the bottom of everything that's wrong with the world."

"So you want him banged up?" asked Jack.

"I at least want him kept away from her. I think if they're separated I might be able to get some answers out of her."

"And she had nothing to do with the arson?"

"I wouldn't have thought so. She obviously has poor technical knowledge, and frankly I think she's just along for the ride, to appease his ego and reinforce his psychosis."

"But what does she get out of that?"

"Well, I can't help wondering if he's got some kind of hold over her. If she's become delusional under stress to avoid dealing with the reality of a bad situation. She's coping, guv. She's stuck."

"Is there a sexual element to their relationship?"

"No. It's unlikely. She specifically referred to him as her friend, she denied a sexual involvement."

"Besides, guv, I'm guessing he's a bit ginger for that," put in Jo.

"He thinks our Jo's his boyfriend," added Terry.

"Ex," corrected Jo.

"And that makes him gay?" asked Jack, confused.

"Long story," said Terry. "Don't mind it."

"Okay," said Jack, putting down his cricket ball. "Let's get the psychiatrist down here for him and see what that turns up."

"Guv," said Terry.

"Ramani. Do you think you can get through to this Jo Grant if you spend some more time with her?"

"I think so. I've already made some progress - she's admitted her story doesn't make sense. I don't think there's permanent damage there. Perhaps to get well again she just needs a friend, someone to talk to."

"Like Margaret Barnes did?" muttered Terry.

"Oh, leave it out, Terry," said Ramani.

"Well you be careful, Ramani," said Jack. "You can't mend people, you of all of us should know that. But you can at least try and get the truth out of them. Let's give it twenty four hours, and if we've got nothing by this time tomorrow, we'll hand them over to social services."


	9. Chapter 9

She thought the canteen would, if nothing else, make a change of scene from the soft interview room.

"Are you hungry?" she asked Jo on the way, smiling brightly.

"Famished. I haven't eaten in twenty two years," replied Jo, who seemed to be more cheery too.

Ramani tugged the resident elastic off her wrist and twisted her hair up into a knot. "Well we might make it before the hot food goes off. I can't recommend it, though, and whatever you do don't order the steak and kidney pie. Terry was throwing up for a week."

"Eeargh, not likely. I only eat simple food when I'm away. I've been to too many places with the Doctor that have very unpleasant - and often not quite dead - ideas about cuisine."

Once she had ordered her food, Jo took out her purse to pay for it - though not before exclaiming "How much?" when she was told the price. She tipped the contents of her purse into her hand, and began to count out coins. To Ramani's discomfort, it appeared Jo didn't have any real money at all - her coins looked like they had come straight out of a Christmas stocking.

Not wanting Jo to be humiliated, she said, "Here, let me," and reached for her wallet.

They sat at a table by the far wall, and Jo wolfed down her food. It was only after she had finished two cheese sandwiches that Ramani had a sudden sinking realisation.

"Could I have another look at your money, please, Jo?" she asked, and Jo - with a half eaten apple in one hand - emptied her purse out on the table.

It was not play money. It was old currency.

Ramani's gaze was immediately drawn to the sixpences. She must have been nine the last time she'd seen one. She picked one up, turned it over on both sides, and felt the weight of it in her hand. There were also oversized 5p, 10p and 50p coins in the purse, and two pound notes folded neatly. It did not escape her notice that all of the coins had been minted prior to 1973, yet many still looked relatively shiny. "Where did you get them?" she asked.

"Oh - the usual places," Jo retorted with a grin, her big brown eyes searching Ramani's face knowingly, hopefully.

Ramani picked up Jo's purse from the table. "May I?" she asked, and Jo said, "I'd rather you did, actually."

There wasn't much in it. No ATM card, no credit card, no video shop or gym membership. There was a piece of paper that declared itself to be a driving licence issued in 1969. There was also an unbanked cheque for three pounds, from a bank Ramani had never heard of, dated 15 February 1973. And a scrap of newspaper with the name 'Mike' written on it beside a seven-digit number that looked suspiciously like a phone number, though the arrangement of digits was unusual.

And then there was the UNIT pass. It was her only photo ID. Ramani scrutinised it at length.

"You know, this driving licence gives your birth year as 1949."

"That's right," said Jo.

"You told me you were twenty four."

"Yes."

"And this UNIT pass was reissued in 1973."

"Correct."

"Which is also when you told me you lived in your most recent house, in Hampstead."

"Just so," said Jo, clearly entertained.

Ramani sighed. "So if you do the maths, it adds up. I mean, in itself, your story makes sense."

"Well, I should hope so. It's the truth, after all."

Ramani sipped some of Jo's tea as she looked again at the documents. Jo watched her do it, and when Ramani looked up again, Jo had a broad cheeky smile and glanced at the white cup in her hand.

Ramani followed her gaze to the cup and immediately put it down. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry, I'll get you another one."

Jo shook her head, "Really. It doesn't matter."

Ramani's hair was already falling out of its knot again, and she pushed it back off her face. "You know what I think?"

"What do you think?"

"I think this is all real. This driving licence, this UNIT pass. This money."

"You know what I think?" replied Jo. "I think you're right." She laughed, and her face lit up again in wicked contagious glee.

Ramani felt immense relief and pleasure at this.

And something else.

A little nauseous swoon of terrible excitement hollowed her intestines. It was one of those moments when her life seemed suddenly, thrillingly, larger than usual, as though she had unexpectedly found herself standing on the edge of a cliff.

She had been wrong. Blinkered, boorish and boringly wrong.

This person - this case number - that she had filed under 'sad delusional victim type A' had morphed into something else entirely. Ramani's initial assessment now seemed pathetically knee-jerk and thin. Perhaps Jo's girlish laugh did not indicate that she was simple. Perhaps her righteous outrage arose from genuine emergency, not psychotic irrational fear.

Jo was actually a mystery.

Ramani saw her in a new light, as a vibrant, confident young woman, who held unknown secrets behind carelessly messy hair and funky clothes. Who had been terribly patient with Ramani's condescension. It was like the light had changed, and before her, staring straight at her, was a person she didn't realise was there before, quietly saying 'boo'.

With an uncertain shake of the head, Ramani spread out her palms before her, giving up, then folded her hands together on the table.

"I don't understand," she said.

Jo smiled at her sympathetically, warmly, genuinely. She placed her hands over Ramani's and squeezed them.

"I know you don't."

For a minute, there was only the movement of searching curious eyes, the firm clammy touch of skin on skin, the warm metal of Jo's rings, the tickle of her fluffy coat cuffs, the clink of tea cups in the background.

Then Ramani's hands gave a little reflexive twitch beneath Jo's. Jo took the opportunity to disengage her hands. Ramani grabbed at them, held them. Smiled breathily, apologetically.

"It's okay," said Jo, and she held Ramani's hands tight across the table. She wasn't letting go.


	10. Chapter 10

Reg took the stairs two at a time. He'd been grumbling away at Laura for the past hour, and was feeling slightly bad about it. It wasn't because he didn't like her - on the contrary, he found that they had a lot in common. Or at least she didn't tell him to 'shut it' every time he made an observation. No, he'd been grumbling because he was anxious to get back here and catch up on what had been discovered.

He found Terry and Jo comparing notes by the CID coffee machine.

"—don't think so. She'd spend the 'ole time whining." Terry was saying.

"What about Zain?"

"Not likely. Too pretty. You?"

Reg removed his hat and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Terry. Jo."

"Reg."

"I was just wondering - was there anything useful in my notes? On the case - the John Smith case?"

Jo frowned at him. "What notes, Reg? You mean your pocket book?"

"Er, no. These were notes I gave to Smithy to pass on to you."

"Seen 'em?" Terry asked Jo.

"Nope," she replied.

"Sorry," said Terry.

"Oh," said Reg, disappointed. "Well have you been looking into it? This 'master' an all that."

Terry scratched his stubble. "What do you mean, looking into it?"

"Well the identity of the man in question. The master's alias, if you like."

Terry stopped scratching. "Smiff's a fruitcake, Reg. Did you miss that episode?"

"Oh," said Reg, nodding along with him. "Only I thought, for the sake of the public safety, that it might be worth looking into all avenues. In case he's telling the truth. You know, if there is a plot to place Sun Hill under a temporal recursion loop."

"Reg," said Terry, "there's no plot."

"Well how can you be sure?"

"I'm sure. Trust me."

"On what basis?"

Terry's eyes flicked to Jo. "Help me out here."

"You're on your own, chum."

He rolled his eyes. "Reg. I'm only going to say this one more time. There. Is. No. Plot."

"Oh," Reg replied equivocally. "Well if you say so."

He nodded vague insincere thanks in Terry's direction and walked out of the office.

Nothing new, he thought to himself, don't take it personal.

It was hard though, because it was always personal.


	11. Chapter 11

"So exactly who are you?" Ramani asked, reaching into the pocket of her suede jacket for a roll of mints. She offered them to Jo, who took one and popped it in her mouth.

"If I explain it to you, will you believe me?"

Jo's eyes challenged Ramani, with dark and insistent daring.

"I'll try."

Jo took a deep breath. "You see, the Doctor and I are travellers in time."

Ramani, sucking on her mint, chewed her bottom lip, and frowned.

"If you can just believe that part," continued Jo, "the rest is easy."

"No, you see…that's not really what I expected you to say."

Ramani craved the solid contact of Jo's calloused, wiry hands again to reassure her. When she'd held them, they'd been real, dependable. But once she had let them go - which she eventually had, out of sheer self-consciousness - it was hard to get them back. And now there was all this plastic tabletop in between the two of them, fostering cold Sun Hill reality, and doubt.

Demons rose up from the table to meet her. She had made mistakes. No major ones in recent times, except Maggie - but that was a big 'except'. The woman was clever and it had shaken Ramani, because she'd found herself in a misty place where truth and fiction got blurred. She lost faith in herself, unable to tell the difference. Falling for Maggie's lines, stepping over boundaries she shouldn't have gone anywhere near, her disastrous choices spilling over into the rest of the station. Ramani had been wrong, as it happened. It went awry, as it happened. She had tried not to let that affect her trust in other people, her uninhibited curiosity about them, her desire to find the hidden wonderfulness that most of them held inside, her inclination to take them as they were, not as they were boxed to be. But it would be easier if Jack and Terry and the others didn't continually remind her that she'd stuffed up.

She spread her fingers out face down on the table in front of her, reaching for Jo with her mind, but not brave enough to move her hand forward.

"The thing is, Jo, that I want to believe you. Part of me is saying, forget about all of these rational doubts, this forensic scepticism. But another part - the part that I have difficulty ignoring - knows that if I believe you and I'm wrong, then I'm derelict in my duty of care for you. I have a responsibility to look out for your welfare, that's my job. And if I don't do it properly, that job is on the line. No - that's not what I mean - it's not the job so much as the question of integrity. I'm here, talking to you because my boss and my colleagues trust me to be doing it. If I fail you, I'll lose that trust, and rightly so."

"You won't," Jo said gently.

Ramani licked her lips. She smiled sharply, exposing her crooked canine in a dubious, sceptical grin. "I want to believe you. But I need evidence."

"Right then," mused Jo thoughtfully. "Evidence. What about the Master's machine?"

"You mean at - at the warehouse?"

"That's right. If it's really high tech gear, that only a Time Lord could build, would that be evidence enough for you?"

"Jo, I need to call my neighbour to set the video - high tech equipment of any sort would have little meaning to me."

"Well what about the effect of it? From what the Doctor's said, that equipment has put a sort of spell on all the people who live nearby. He said it makes the same things happen over and over."

"Well life has been pretty monotonous."

It made a sort of sense. There were the big things - the deaths - the running joke with Terry about when the next bomb would go off. And the little things - the locker room conflicts - the interminable lack of talent round the office.

Hadn't she said as much to Terry only a few hours ago?

"I don't think it's enough. I mean if you're going to come up with a conspiracy theory that will ring true for ninety nine percent of the population, it's that their lives are unbearably tedious and repetitive. I can't be sure it's not a coincidence. With all due respect to the Doctor," she added.

Jo set her jaw firmly. "There's only one thing for it then. I'm going to have to show you the TARDIS."

"Your…wooden box?"

"That's right. Our wooden box." She smiled.

"So - I'm not sure - what will that achieve?"

"Oh, Ramani!" scolded Jo with exasperation. "It's the Doctor's time machine of course!"

Of course.

Jo stood up and began to walk. "Well come on, then."

"Now?" Ramani too got out of her seat, and buttoned up her jacket.

Jo stopped. "There's one problem, though. The Doctor has the only key."

"Well don't worry," said Ramani. "If my rank's useful for anything, it's sweet-talking custody sergeants."


	12. Chapter 12

"Jo!"

"Doctor!"

As soon as the cell door had opened, she was running into his arms.

"It's nice to see you alive, at least. Are you all right?"

"Oh, Doctor, I'm fine. How are you?"

"Well, unlike the TARDIS, this room is a great deal smaller on the inside than it seems from out there." He scratched his head. "But I'm fine. They're feeding me, at any rate, if you can call this food."

"Doctor, this is Ramani…Ramani… Ramani, what is your surname? Do you know I didn't even ask!"

"I'm Acting Detective Inspector Ramani De Costa," said Ramani from the doorway. She felt a bit silly to be sounding so important when what she was about to do seemed so utterly ridiculous.

"How d'you do? I'm known as the Doctor."

He extended his hand towards her, and she found herself shaking it. It felt warm, firm, and underneath it all…magical?

"I think Ramani can help us," said Jo. "But I need the TARDIS key. I said I'd show her inside, to prove we're telling the truth."

"Good idea, Jo. But the key was taken from me upon my arrest."

"Yes, I realised that." She handed him a piece of paper and a pen. "You have to sign this form before they'll hand it over."

"Well if I must," said the Doctor, and signed it with an illegible squiggle. "I must say, it'd make an agreeable change for somebody to believe our story."

"And she will, Doctor. I know she will."

"Good. Perhaps then we can resume our search for the Master."

They both spoke with such unselfconscious conviction. Ramani felt as though she was on the frontier of a strange new world. It was seductive, very. Time travel, space travel, but more than that, it was simply the lure of something completely foreign to her. She was torn between commitment to the daily grind of what she knew best, and letting herself be seduced.

Actually, she wasn't really torn - that was a lie. She was falling willingly, indulging a perpetually suppressed longing for the possible and new. But she thought she ought to feel torn. She was sure that Jack would be horrified at how easily she shrugged off years of training in the police art of pragmatic distrust. "The manual strictly forbids—" she heard him lecturing, but she wasn't interested. She turned that thought off.

And tuned into Jo saying her name.

"Will it be safe to take Ramani back to the warehouse?" Jo was asking the Doctor. "You don't suppose the Master will be lurking about waiting for us?"

"I don't know, Jo." The Doctor gave it some thought, stroking his chin with his finger. "By now he will have realised that his recursion loop generator is damaged. He could be there."

They both looked over at Ramani. "If need be," she said cautiously, "I can arrange for armed backup."

"There you are then," said the Doctor, smiling. "Your very own twenty-first century Brigadier, Jo."

They both laughed.

Ramani, despite not getting the joke, recklessly laughed along with them.


	13. Chapter 13

"So what you gonna do?" asked Terry, swaying on his revolving chair when Ramani returned to the CID office. "Take her to the refuge?"

Ramani laughed hesitantly, "I don't think you want to know, Terry."

She went through to the DI's office and began to gather her things from her disastrously messy desk.

He'd been wondering when she'd return, why she'd taken so long, what the sod she thought she was doing. Well, actually, he had a few ideas. But he'd hoped she'd prove him wrong.

He followed her into her office.

"Tell me you're joking," he said.

"About what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Aylesbury on the fly with Maggie. Don't go there again."

"Nice," said Ramani, and went on looking for her keys.

"Ramani. The best thing to do is hand it on to social services. Don't get involved."

"Terry. Don't."

"She's a case, Ramani. Not to mention an 'eadcase. We get dozens of her sort every week. Stick her in a refuge and deal wiv it tomorrow."

Ramani paused in her 'organising', put a hand to her forehead and sighed. "There's been a development."

Terry set his jaw firmly, sceptical. "What?"

"Did you notice her clothes, the way she wears her hair, her boots?"

"Yeah. So she's on the game and dressed by oxfam - where's the newsflash?"

Ramani scoffed, shaking her head. "I don't expect you to understand. Nor do I have to justify my actions to you."

"Turn it up. I didn't come down with the last shower - I'm your friend. I want you to be sensible, is all."

"You're gonna have to trust me, then."

She shoved her phone into her bag, shouldered it, and left the DI's office, switching off the light.

Terry emerged from the darkened office and went to sit back at his desk. But he couldn't stomach returning to the report he had to write. He flicked a paperclip at Jo. "Oi! Master!"

"Watch it. Or I'll turn you into a - hunk?" She laughed, flinging it back. "What was that word he used?"

"I dunno. I thought he said homo…someink," said Terry, and they both pissed themselves laughing.

"Poor old dear," sighed Jo.

"Listen, you up for a pint later at that new bar in Jamaica Lane? I think I've lost my date."

"Last minute substitute, is it? Story of me life."

"Is that a yes?"

"Course it is, you desperate bastard."


	14. Chapter 14

By the time Ramani got back down to custody, Jo had the TARDIS key in hand and was flirting with PC Casper, who was filling in behind the desk. Jo smiled such a lot, such an authentic, generous smile, that it made Ramani smile again too.

"Well thank you ever so much," said Jo to Dan when Ramani came through the doors. "It's been absolutely fab to have such lovely company while I waited."

"Just part of the service," he replied, blushing.

Ramani felt a little bit jealous.

"Are you going to be warm enough?" she asked, angling her head to assess the length of Jo's miniskirt.

"I'll be okay, thanks. There's whole rooms of clothes in the TARDIS if I do get cold."

Ramani smiled. "It's this way," she said, and pointed with her car keys.

It was night already as they walked down the ramp to the car yard, and the cool air struck their cheeks. The clanky sound of Jo's boots on concrete echoed off the walls. Ramani fidgeted with her hair, which had again fallen about her ears.

"I think you're wonderful, Ramani, for doing this," said Jo. "You've been so very kind to me."

To which Ramani had to give a low throaty laugh to herself, because just then she entirely stopped feeling jealous. "It's my pleasure, Jo."

She pointed her remote key towards her car and unlocked the doors. Jo followed her to the car, but stood beside the passenger door, waiting to be let in.

"It's unlocked," said Ramani. "But - oops! Hold on. Let me clean this up."

There were folders and sweet wrappers and parking tickets and plastic bags and CDs and orange peels and god knows what all over the passenger seat. Ramani quickly filed the junk into 'back window', 'back seat' and 'back floor' categories, then brushed off the seat cover. "Okay," she said, and Jo got in.

Jo snuggled down into the comfortable seat, laughing "What's this?" upon seeing plastic Elvis dangling from the windscreen. She gyrated his hips with her finger.

"You ought to know better than me," said Ramani. "And put your seatbelt on."

Ramani reversed the car out of the yard while Jo got her head around the automatic seatbelt.

"It's odd, you know," said Jo, snagging the belt on the brake stop repeatedly. "I've been to the future before, but only the very distant future, with space ships and aliens and intergalactic wars and things. But for some reason this seems even more futuristic than that does, because it's all quite similar, but quite different too." She looked over at Ramani. "Am I making any sense at all?"

Ramani concentrated on her three-point turn. "Probably. But having never been in a spaceship myself it's not for me to say."

She paused the car. The engine revved. "So where are we going?"

"To the warehouse, naturally!"

"Right."

The sky was dark, but the streetlights were bright. Jo watched out the window with wonder, pointing out familiar landmarks amongst the newness, and Ramani enjoyed the excited rise and fall of her voice over the hum of the engine.

"Put the radio on if you like."

It took a bit of trial and error for Jo to get the stereo to work, but finally some of Ramani's bhangra thumped out at them. Ramani apologised and turned the volume down.

"Groovy," said Jo, and Ramani had to smile.

"What sort of music do you like, Jo?"

"Oh, you know. Whatever's happening. I haven't had much time for music since joining UNIT. Though I must say, I do think that T-rex chap is rather dishy."

"Marc Bolan?"

"That's the one. Are you a fan too?"

"Um. No, not in particular. My mother, though, I'm quite certain, had one of his records."

"Now that's a strange thought," mused Jo. "I suppose I must be old enough to be your mother! And I've just had another thought. What if there's another, older me walking around London right now, at this very minute?"

"I don't think you should dwell on that thought," said Ramani, scanning the rear vision mirror just in case.

"No. I don't think I will. I wonder what I'm doing, though. I wonder if I'm happy. Perhaps I have some good advice to give myself."

Good advice, thought Ramani.

Hold my hand?

Hold my hand. Stay here with me, and show me what's inside you. Change my life, make it different, let me see things I'd never otherwise see and do things I couldn't let myself do. Tell me how I can never grow up. Please be happy. Don't lose that laugh, that smile. Make all of this be true.

She had come too far. She was invested now. If she had to go back to work tomorrow and put Jo in the psych ward, she'd probably have to stick her head in the oven on Friday.

She turned off the engine.

Her head leant back against the headrest and rolled to the side to look at Jo.

"Don't disappoint me, will you?"

Jo's expression was flushed with confidence, reassurance, and sexy, satisfied triumph.

"Come and see."


	15. Chapter 15

He'd been having it a lot lately. A nagging feeling, a can't-quite-catch-it, on-the-tip-of-my-mind, slight, sort of, i'm-probably-just-being-paranoid feeling. Of de ja vu.

The day would start off a bit wrong, a bit tired, a bit been-there-done-that, a bit i'm-sure-i-already-drank-this-tea-didn't-i?-well-obviously-i-didn't. And it was never anything he could put his finger on. Maybe he was just getting old.

But then the day would develop into a drama, and there would be bits of the drama that made him puzzle and draw back, and think - there's something not right here. I've dealt with this case before. I've solved this problem before. I thought I'd finished with this.

No one else had noticed, or if they did, they didn't say.

The tea spilt a little as he opened the cell door, but he hoped Doctor Smith wouldn't mind.

The Doctor lay flat on his back with his hands behind his head and his long left leg crossed over his right. His eyes were closed, and didn't open when he said, "Constable Hollis. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Reg closed the door to just ajar behind him.

"I brought you some hot tea - here, and there's sugar as well if you want it."

"Thank you. Much obliged."

The Doctor sat up to receive his tea.

"D'you mind?" asked Reg, and sat beside him. "I wanted to ask you something. If you don't mind."

"Not at all. What is it?"

"Well I was wondering, is it possible that the temporal recursion loop is somewhat haphazard? By which I mean, that it fluctuates in strength, thus allowing for some temporally localised events that have no subsequent repetition? Only I've noticed some things never changing while others change very rapidly."

The Doctor was pleasantly surprised to have a receptive audience at last. "I should say so," he said. "Yes, I think that would be possible. Particularly when the energy source is unreliable, such as the one the Master was tapping into."

"So would it be correct to say that the loop operates as a field of probability, rather than a simple linear process?"

"Exactly right."

"Oh. That's very interesting."

The Doctor regarded Reg curiously.

"I say, old chap. Do you think you could see your way to getting me out of this cell?"

"Well, sir, I—"

"Please. Most people call me the Doctor."

"Oh, Doctor, is it? Well, no. I don't have the authority to do that. That would be up to CID."

"How unfortunate."

"Yes, it is rather. But on the bright side, while you're here I thought I'd take the opportunity to discuss some possible candidates for who is the Master in disguise, so to speak. I tried to show this to CID, but, well, they were following up other leads I suppose."

Reg gave the Doctor the page of notes that he had carefully retrieved from Smiffy's bin.

"Excellent," murmured the Doctor, reading down the page. "Hollis, I believe you've just saved me a very large amount of time and a good deal of hard labour."

"The list is in order of priority, from most likely to least likely suspects. This name at the top is the one I'm really most interested in, and you can see why."

"Thank you, old man. Where would I be without you?"

"Well actually. If it weren't for me you'd most likely not be under arrest."

"Quite true," agreed the Doctor amicably. "But things always happen for a reason. Obscure though it may be."

Reg considered this. "That's a very mystical position for a person of your intellect, I would have thought."

"Not at all. Since the beginning of time, the universe has been built on the complex interplay of primary forces and universal laws. The complexity makes it nigh impossible to calculate the exact path leading up to any particular event. Nonetheless, the universe is little more than a very complex machine."

"Oh, do you think so? Only I've read recently that the relationship between that which we call cause and that which we call effect is not always as deterministic as the rational sciences have traditionally held."

The Doctor, at that point, had to tug on his earlobe. "Touché," he said. "I can see I've underestimated you, Hollis."

"Oh," said Reg dismissively, forgivingly. "Never mind. It's not as though you'd be the first."


	16. Chapter 16

Ramani lifted the police tape for Jo to slip under. The warehouse door's lock was too badly damaged to function, but the SOCO team had left a temporary padlock and bolt on the door to keep people out.

"Damn," muttered Ramani. "I didn't think."

"Let me handle it," said Jo.

She drew a ring of keys from the pocket of her fluffy coat, and began to test them one by one on the padlock.

"I'm going to have to pretend I didn't see this," said Ramani, and turned to watch the street.

"Now, hopefully," said Jo as she finally found a key that fit, "this means that the Master isn't inside."

She snapped off the lock and pushed open the door.

The orange glow that had been present earlier in the day had faded substantially, so the warehouse was very dark. Ramani switched on her torch and led the way inside.

"Perhaps I should go first," whispered Jo.

"You don't have to worry about my safety, Jo," Ramani whispered back.

"But you don't know the Master. I do - all too well - and he's not very friendly."

"Jo, I'm a police officer. I can handle myself, you know."

For some reason Jo giggled at this, and took Ramani's hand.

"Then we should go together."

Which was fine by Ramani, who happily let their fingers intertwine.

The place was utterly silent. They trod quietly across the stockroom floor to the back door, and stopped. Ramani turned off her torch. The only light left was a dull ambient glow from the back room that cast the white fluff on Jo's coat in an eerie blue.

Jo peered cautiously round the corner of the door.

"Come on."

They tiptoed, ever so slowly, into the room, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the light.

It was empty. The Master had not returned.

Ramani turned her torch back on and shone it around the room. Along the full length of each wall was a bank of fancy looking electronic equipment. Much of it was blackened with soot or melted, though one machine appeared to be in working order. It was this that created the ambient light.

"This way," said Jo, and pointed to a blue police box at the far end of the room.

"Wow," said Ramani, her heart sinking. "This is your wooden box?"

"I thought you'd be impressed."

"Is it a…real police box?"

Jo gave her a reproving look. "Of course not." She put they key to the double front doors to unlock them, while scowling at Ramani with melodramatic crossness. "Are you coming inside or what?"

"Inside?"

"That is what we're here for," Jo reminded her sternly. Her face was expectant and serious. "Ramani. Have faith in me."

Ramani found it hard to resist this. She had promised to try.

She followed Jo through the doors.

"Welcome to the TARDIS," said Jo.

Ramani found herself inside a large, white room. The most striking thing about it - aside from its inexplicable size - was how bright it was, how unbelievably immaculately clean looking. It gleamed pure white from every surface. "What is it?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Are you going to say it's bigger on the inside than the out?"

"No. Well, yes, that too. But it just looks so…alien."

She was drawn to the hexagonal console in the middle of the room. Lights flashed on and off all over it, and data panels lit up with streams of numbers. There were so many knobs and switches in such bizarre arrangement that Ramani could make no sense of it at all. It seemed to lack order entirely. Not that she had the first clue what the instruments were for, to have any idea of how they might be ordered better.

"Do you know how to work these?" she asked Jo.

"I've got absolutely no idea."

"So you can't make us go somewhere. Or sometime."

Jo shook her head. "You'll have to ask the Doctor for that."

Ramani turned her attention to the walls. They seemed to glow, as if something alive was gestating behind the strange round panels. She touched one - it was softer than she expected, though it wasn't yielding. It was felt the hard ball of fish roe she'd once found at the beach - at once firm and organic. The panel was also warm, though, like flesh. It vibrated ever so slightly beneath her fingers. Indeed, she thought she could feel the whole room tremble and hum.

Despite its strangeness, there was nothing intimidating about the room. It wasn't scary at all. In fact, she felt completely safe. Loved, even.

"I don't quite know what to think."

Jo was leaning back against the console. In this alien environment, her theatrical clothes no longer seemed out of place. Nor did she.

"You look like you're right at home," said Ramani, folding her arms lazily.

"I am," said Jo.

"You've even got a telly."

Jo followed her gaze to the far wall. "Yes, but I've tried, and it doesn't pick up BBC 1."

Ramani found this very amusing. It was a space joke, and yet it made perfect sense.

It seemed she had crossed the frontier.

"So," said Jo in a very sober tone of voice. "Is it enough to satisfy your forensic scepticism?"

The question was redundant, and Jo knew it. Her calm confidence was written all over her face.

Ramani pondered her. The girl simply oozed mystery and promise. At the same time, she made herself completely present and available. It was a very pleasing combination.

"Let's get your friend the Doctor out of my nick."

Jo smiled broadly. "Thank you, Ramani."

She hopped off her leaning spot on the console and planted a hefty kiss on Ramani's cheek.

As Jo made to leave the room, Ramani took one last look around. Something really had to be done. But it was bad. She wasn't sure if the criminal damage act applied in here, but even if it didn't, it was rude.

"Give me one minute," she said to Jo.

She rummaged through her jacket pockets, and after emptying her mints, a tissue, her warrant card, a bus ticket, a dying roll of sticky tape and a single woollen glove onto the console, she eventually succeeded in finding a pen. "Do you think the Doctor will mind?"

Jo's eyes were immediately filled with naughty pleasure. "I shan't tell him if you don't."

They searched the room for an appropriate spot. It wasn't easy amongst all that unnatural white.

"What about under here?" Ramani suggested, examining the bottom of the console.

"That's the first place he'll see it. He's always tinkering away on something down there."

In the end, they chose an anonymous round panel close to the floor. The lip of the panel was indented slightly, providing just enough cover to make a discreet shadow.

They knelt down by the panel. Ramani's unfocused gaze rested on Jo as she contemplated what to write. But it was a no-brainer really.

/Ramani was here with Jo September 2005/

Once she'd written it, she wished she'd misspelt it properly. She licked her finger and rubbed out some words to do it again.

/Ramani + Jo woz ere September "05" Peace/

She was tempted to write something about Tupac, but thought that was going a bit too far.

Then she had a brilliant idea.

/Elvis lives/

"Is Elvis dead?" asked Jo, a bit disconcerted.

"Oops. Sorry, Jo, I forgot." She placed a comforting hand on Jo's shoulder, though it was a bit hard not to laugh.

They were silent, walking back through the warehouse to the car. Ramani didn't dare look down, for fear of finding that she'd walked straight off the cliff into empty space. If she was walking on air though, it felt pretty damn fine.

The 'bipbip' sound her car made when she unlocked the doors with her remote key sounded freakishly foreign, and the indicator lights flashing were like a ridiculous parody of what flashing lights could be. She sat behind the steering wheel with the keys in the ignition, not at all sure that she was up to driving, nor even sure that she could remember how to drive this primitive machine.

"Do you want to drive, Jo?" she asked, and turned to look at her companion.

Jo's pupils were dilated in the dark. She was large as life, she was attentive, she was lovely and sexy and fun. And then, a moment later, she was kissing Ramani.

It was wet, and squishy. It was nice. Ramani could smell Jo's breath when she pulled back - it smelled of her own mints.

"You know what?" said Jo. "Travel does broaden the mind." And she giggled sweetly.

Ramani kissed her back.


	17. Chapter 17

"After all that," said Terry, slamming down the phone, "the shrink's not available till tomorrow. So we'll have to leave him in the cells overnight."

"I'm not sure that would be good for him," replied Jo, tippexing a report.

"No. But what choice do we have?"

"We could give him another crack. Perhaps after a few hours in custody he'll have seen the error of his ways."

"Yep," agreed Terry. "I wish Ramani was here, though. She said there'd been a development, only she didn't say what. Or I didn't listen. Something about… something… miniskirts… I dunno. Maybe it don't matter."

"Give her a call."

"We sort of had a fight. Can you do it?"

He grinned at her, pleadingly. Jo shook her head at him and picked up the phone.

"Guv? It's Jo. Masters, that's right, glad you haven't forgotten."


	18. Chapter 18

"No, of course I haven't forgotten, Jo. What's the problem?"

It was dark in the car, and steamy, at least Ramani felt quite flushed. Beside her, Jo twisted bits of Ramani's hair around her fingers, and then had to spend some time disentangling the hair from her rings, and stopping herself from laughing as Ramani's head played tug of war between Jo's rings and her mobile phone.

"Let him go," she was saying into the phone. "He didn't do it. I just know, trust me. No, I don't have solid evidence, but I'm convinced beyond all doubt that he didn't do it. Just do it, Jo - do I have to order you to? Right. I see. Well I know you're going to find this hard to believe but I don't think he has psych issues at all. Can we discuss it later? Well tell Terry it's all a misunderstanding and I'll explain it when I see him."

She hung up.

"Sorry about that."

Jo yanked a hair from the metal lacework of her thumb ring. "Is that it then? Are they going to let the Doctor go?"

"I think so. They're not happy about it. But I don't even know how to start telling them why."

She caught Jo's hand, and played with it. Their fingers got all entwined and there was a bit of a thumb fight, and somehow it ended up in more kissing.

After an appropriate interval, Jo said, "Ramani, when they release the Doctor I'll probably have to follow him about town looking for the Master. I don't think I'll be able to - you know - hang around."

"Should I have told Jo and Terry to leave him in overnight?"

"No," laughed Jo. "That would just be cruel. I'm not sure I'd ever be forgiven for that. Anyway. He is my friend."

Ramani was frowning. "Well do you have to do it tonight? This search for the Master, I mean - can't you leave it till morning?"

"That's up to the Doctor. And usually with him, it's go go go."

"He can do without you for one night, can't he?"

Overnight, tonight, one night - Ramani clamped her lips shut for her assumptions, or at least for how she sounded. The two things were in fact not the same. Her demands for Jo's company for the night were rooted in blind panic, that this new and wondrous thing would - like Cinderella's coach - suddenly disappear into thin air at midnight.

But Jo hadn't seemed to notice any lines being crossed or inappropriate assumptions being made, and was instead rather thoughtful. "If we don't go back," she speculated, "then I'm sure he'll assume I'll catch up with him tomorrow. We often get separated. As long as he knows I'm not in danger."

"Well, if he needs to know where you are, someone at the station can phone me. They have my number. Will he think to ask? I mean, does he know about mobile phones?"

"I should think so. The Doctor has a good idea about most things. I'm sure I don't need to worry."

"But will he miss your expertise? I mean, does he need you for certain tasks, or…"

"Not likely," said Jo with good humour. "The truth is that I'd probably just be in his way, although he never says as much. I'm not the best assistant he's ever had. I've ruined his experiments, nearly blown up his lab, and usually I haven't the first clue what he's going on about. I didn't even pass general science."

All of which sounded like recommendations to Ramani. Not to mention a really good excuse.

"Great," she said, looking sidelong at Jo. "By which of course I mean, I'm sure none of that is true."

"It is true," said Jo. "So I shouldn't say he'll miss me one bit."

She smiled at Ramani.

"But don't think I'm a complete cloth-head," she said, taking Ramani's hand. "You can't travel 4 million light years without learning something."


	19. Chapter 19

Terry grumped his way down to custody.

Ramani had finally gone off the deep end as far as he was concerned. Or got her end in deep. Either way, it wasn't promising.

But ultimately, beneath his grumbling and his dark suspicions (and was that jealousy?), he did trust her. Completely. She was like a sister - he knew her, without even asking, inside and out. And through the bickering, he'd be there. So here he was, doing as he was told.

The cell door was ajar, and he nudged it open.

"You're free to go," he said to the Doctor. "Guvnor's orders."

The Doctor got up to stretch his legs. "I'm glad your 'guvnor' has more common sense than you do, Perkins."

"Yeah, enough of the lip."

Terry held the door open for him and for Reg, who was still in the cell with him.

"DC Masters is getting your belongings."

"Good. I'd like to apologise to her for the unfortunate - though perfectly understandable, I hope - accusations I made earlier. And, er—" The Doctor rubbed his neck. "I should also like to apologise to you."

"Forget it," said Terry, a bit sorry for the old man.

The Doctor took a seat on the custody bench, with Reg sitting down beside him. Terry slouched back against the desk and sniffed.

Presently, Jo returned from the property store carrying a brown paper parcel.

"Here you are, Doctor. Hope your stay was a pleasant one."

"Thank you, my dear. I'm sure it was very pleasant indeed. Now, about what I said before…"

"It's nothing," said Jo, smiling at him pleasantly. "Water off a duck's."

Terry peeled himself from the custody desk. "Let's get the sod out of here," he said, and he left, taking Jo with him.

"So. Doctor," began Reg with exaggerated flippancy. "I imagine you'll be going then?"

"Well I was going to wait for my companion, Jo. But she did say she was going to the warehouse, which is also the best place for me to resume my search. So perhaps, yes - I should be going, as you say."

"I'll be sorry to see you leave."

Reg extended his hand for shaking. The Doctor looked at it. "Well I do hope this isn't goodbye just yet. I was rather hoping you'd join me."

Reg's eyes blazed, just for an instant. "Oh. Yes, well. I'd like that very much, as it goes."


	20. Chapter 20

The night air was still. But the night was not yet old.

Ramani and Jo sat on the bonnet of the car with their legs dangling over the engine grill, and they looked up at what would most likely be stars, if this wasn't London.

"Up there is Arcturus," said Jo, pointing to the thick blanket of cloud that covered the sky. "And over there, that's Alpha Centauri."

"What's that one?" asked Ramani, pointing further to the left.

"You mean the one in a constellation of four?"

"No. Have a look where I'm pointing."

Jo leaned over, pressing her cheek against Ramani's, to look along the line of her arm.

"Oh yes. Now that has got to be Metebelis 3." Jo giggled like a child, and Ramani smiled into her skin.

Hands crept around lean limbs and curves. Fingers slid across suede and beneath faux fur, finding their way to warm folds of cotton and crevices of nylon and silk. Breaths came noisily, heavily. Kisses were magnetic.

There were long minutes, and short ones, but whatever their lengths the minutes kept coming, and going. Ramani knew there was something about time not going in a straight line, but she suspected, when she looked at her watch, that it probably wouldn't help her much by the time the sun started rising.

Their faces were warm as they kissed. Jo's arms were snug about her body. The metal of the car was cold beneath them, and the traffic noise from the adjacent street continued its perpetual hum. And there was nowhere, nothing, no one that Ramani wanted more.


	21. Chapter 21

When the Doctor and Reg entered the warehouse, they heard a loud voice with a northern accent jabbering excitedly in the back room.

"Is it the Master?" whispered Reg.

The Doctor listened for a moment. "No," he said, with noticeable relief.

Reg continued to walk towards the door.

"Hollis, wait," the Doctor whispered loudly.

"But I thought—"

"Shhh!"

"Right, then," the voice said, "you're taken care of, the Master's gone for good, I've saved the world again, and we've still got time to drop in on your mum. But honestly, what she don't know won't hurt her, so I say we go and have ourselves a bag of chips on the canal. What do you say to that? Fantastic or what?"

"Not bad for an old bloke in a young bloke's body," said another voice, then added, "Well, youngish!"

The Doctor smiled to himself. "Something to look forward to," he explained to Reg, who didn't understand.

A door clicked shut in the other room. Then there was a blue flashing light and the sound of a noisy engine that gradually faded to nothing.

"We can go in now," said the Doctor.

Reg cleared his throat. "Doctor? Am I to gather from that conversation that the Master has been suitably taken care of?"

"That's right."

"So we don't have to search for him anymore?"

"I shouldn't think we'd find him now even if we tried."

The Doctor made a beeline for the blue police box at the far end of the room. "Still in one piece, my dear old thing?" he said to it, and patted it affectionately.

Reg was left to toy with a piece of charcoaled plastic on what remained of the recursion loop generator.

"How disappointing," he said, wiping the soot from his fingers. "Now I'll never know if I was right."


	22. Chapter 22

She waited at the traffic lights, watching the world through the filth of her unwashed windscreen.

There were some things left - a blonde hair on the seat cover, an elusive hint of scent. Not much, all up. And they'd disappear into the disorder of her life soon enough.

It was not a mundane pain.

She had had something within her grasp and lost it. Had been unwilling to spoil it by asking for more, fearing the answer. And as a result, there was no more that she received.

Reg had been there when they'd left. She'd ignored him almost completely, having eyes and time only for one more, two more kisses with Jo, and the unspoken words that went with it: I really haven't finished with this yet.

And then…nothing. Literally nothing - Jo had slipped into the police box and closed the door, and Ramani had held onto it with both palms flat against the blue panels. Then it simply melted away beneath her hands, and it was gone.

Reg had nodded at her - sadly it seemed today - and left without a word.

The traffic light changed to green, and Ramani turned the familiar corner of Canley Road and Limehouse. The traffic was shite today.

No one else had seen it. There were no witnesses who knew it happened, who heard the hum and the words, who felt the ripples. She had to remember it all herself, and she had already forgotten some things. What colour was the stone in the ring on her thumb? What pattern was the weave of her stockings? How exactly was it again that her voice changed when she smiled? It was disappearing with the minutes, and if she didn't speak it, it would go.

Terry wouldn't want to hear it - of that she was certain.

But there was Reg.

Reg, she thought as she drove into her parking spot ten minutes late (again). Reg, as she checked her lippy in the mirror (missing the clump of hair sticking straight up at the back of her head) and got out of the car, banging the door shut with her hip and then opening it to lock it again because it didn't close properly the first time.

Talk to Reg.

The End.


End file.
